Return to Savage Beach (1998)

My critical knives were just itching to cut into the bloated carcass that is Return to Savage Beach (a.k.a.  L.E.T.H.A.L. Ladies: Return to Savage Beach) for having so many freakin' endings, when, all of a sudden, Carrie Westcott, of all people (an "actress" who displays more charisma while unconscious than she does while conscious), chimes in, and, in one fell swoop, undercuts the point I was going to make about how this film's ending seems to go on forever. You see, just as I was starting to lose patience with the multiple endings that were being  thrown in my general direction (they even found the time to throw in a Scooby Doo-style ending), Carrie refers to the fact that this story has too many endings. Meaning, writer-director Andy Sidaris is totally aware of what's going on. I was always under the impression he had no idea what's going on. Anyway, unless I decide to circle back and watch the action-adventure films Andy Sidaris made during the 1970s, this is it as far as Andy Sidaris/Christian Drew Sidaris movies go. On the one hand, I'm kind of happy that it's over, as, let's be honest, the film's have been getting steadily worse ever since Malibu Express and Hard Ticket to Hawaii. Sure, there are a few exceptions here and there (Guns, for example, is an excellent piece of trash cinema). But for the most part, things have been going slowly downhill.

Yet, I'm also kind of sad. I mean, this is it. No more movies with terrible actresses with fake breasts trying recite expository dialogue, no more movies with poorly-staged shoot outs (can I at least get a muzzle flash up in this overpriced bistro?), and no more movies that feature the cast standing around holding glasses of champagne in bad 1980s/90s fashions in the final scene.

A sequel to Savage Beach (duh), but also a sequel to Day of the Warrior, as that film's entire cast is back for more scantily clad hijinks,  L.E.T.H.A.L. Ladies: Return to Savage Beach involves lost treasure buried on a remote island somewhere in the Pacific Ocean.

I know, didn't Special Agents Donna (Dona Speir) and Taryn (Hope Marie Carlton) help return the buried treasure to government of the Republic of the Philippines in Savage Beach? That's true, they did. However, as usual, unlawful shenanigans of a duplicitous nature were afoot, and the treasure somehow ended up back on–you guessed it–Savage Beach.

Since this film boasts the same cast as Day of the Warrior, including wrestler Marcus Bagwell (now sporting a George Michael circa 1998-2008 haircut), it boasts some of the same problems. The biggest one being the complete and utter lack of talent displayed by Julie K. Smith and Shae Marks, who are, if can you believe this, supposed to be the new Dona Speir and Hope Marie Carlton. Oh, sure, they have big breasts. But they bring nothing else to the table in terms of wit or personality.

Emerging from the Pacific Ocean in a skimpy lavender bathing suit, the so statuesque it's ridiculous Julie Strain hops in her car and drives to the KSXY studios in Molokai to watch a new spy satellite being launched. As usual, Ava (Ava Cadell), "your personal sextrologist," along with Harry The Cat (Kevin Eastman), her engineer (who looks like a roadie for, oh, let's say, Toad the Wet Sprocket), and Silk (Carolyn Liu), are there to greet her.

As in the previous films that take place in this universe, Ava uses her radio show to deliver coded messages to L.E.T.H.A.L. (Legion to Ensure Total Harmony and Law) agents in the field.

Delivering a coded message to Tiger (Shae Marks) and Tyler (Christian Letelier) in Dallas, Ava informs them that a group of "bad guys" are smuggling weapons into the U.S.A. via Mexico. And thanks to the new satellite in orbit, Ava can pinpoint their exact location for Tiger and Tyler, using code, of course.

Donning wet suits, Tiger and Tyler confront the "bad guys" on jet skis. What ensues enfolds as followed: Chase. Shoot out. Explosion. Cheesy one-liner. 

Meanwhile, a mysterious blonde, a woman named "Sofia" (Carrie Westcott), is putting on a red PVC outfit in a Dallas Ramada. Wait, why is she carrying pizzas and ginger ale on roller-blades? Oh, I see what's going on. With most of the L.E.T.H.A.L. agents out hunting gun runners, there's no one around to mind the store.

Knocking out a security guard, a receptionist and an office manager with some spiked ginger ale, Sofia, who was posing as a pizza delivery girl, simply walks in and steals some "obsolete computer files." I know, why would anyone want to steal obsolete computer files? 

While that was a weird thing for her do, did you see the receptionist? (The blonde in the turquoise dress?) Yeah, her. (What about her?) I thought she was the most normal-looking woman to ever appear in an Andy Sidaris production made between 1985-1998.

Now, under normal circumstances (no pun intended), being "normal-looking" would be a negative. However, after being repeatedly beaten over the head with what Andy Sidaris considers to be female beauty, to see a natural woman not dressed like a tarted up hosebeast onscreen, even it was for only a few seconds, was an amazing sight to behold.

Yet, like I said, the receptionist, played by Elizabeth O'Donnell, is only onscreen for a few seconds, so, unfortunately, we're back to the watching the usual Andy Sidaris-approved nonsense in no time.

Trust me, if you have watched as many Andy Sidaris films as I have, you will embrace just about anything that deviates from the status quo. And if that means obsessing over receptionists who drink ginger ale that's been drugged by a plastic-looking bimbo, than so be it.

I would rather watch the receptionist character pretend to pass out, than sit through another one of Julie K. Smith's unsexy strip routines. Is this supposed to be titillating? It looks like she's having a seizure. Oh, and don't get me started on the guy who replaced Kevin Light (Nowhere) as Doc, Miss Smith's love interest in Day of the Warrior. He's awful, truly awful. And you know what? I'm not even going to mention his name.

After getting the computer disc that contains the exact location of Savage Beach, Sofia flies to Hawaii and personally delivers it to Rodrigo Martinez (Rodrigo Obregón). Yep, the Rodrigo Martinez. It would seem that he wasn't killed at the end of Savage Beach after all.

Why Sofia is wearing a fur coat? Doesn't she know she's in Hawaii? Ugh, this movie. Oh, wait, she's got a surprise for Rodrigo underneath it... a sexy surprise.

Just in the nick of time, we're introduced to Fu (Gerald Okamura), Julie Strain's loyal sidekick, and Warrior (Marcus Bagwell), who's a good guy now.

Pay close attention to when Willow Black and Warrior show up at Fu's house. You'll notice that as Julie Strain bends over to grab something from the back seat of her car, she revels a slight hint of thong ensnared butt-crack... or is it, butt-crack ensnared thong? Either way, it's a beautiful sight to behold.

To find out what happens when they finally arrive at Savage Beach, see my review of the original Savage Beach, as it's basically the same thing. Except, in Return to Savage Beach, the ninjas use guns. That's right, the ninjas in this film are packing pistols. What has the world come to?

After about six endings, including a twenty minute wrap up monologue by Rodrigo Obregón (who kinda deserves one, as he's been in at least twelve of these movies), harmony has been achieved and the law has been enforced.

In a bizarre twist, the final shot features Ava Cadell lounging in Molokai in black stockings with seams. It's "bizarre" because it shatters my previous theory that stated that stockings, especially black stockings, are not conducive to Hawaii's humid climate. Well, if you will excuse me, I need to go wash the egg off my face, as Andy Sidaris just made a fool out of me. Black stockings in Hawaii... who would have thought? (Not to nitpick, but Carrie Westcott appears in black stockings earlier in the film.) Yeah, so what? The final shot of an Andy Sidaris film features a leggy Hungarian woman reclining in a leggy manner in black stockings. The end.

Day of the Warrior (Andy Sidaris, 1996)

Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in. Except, "they" aren't The Mob (or the D-Mob, for you all acid heads out there) or The Church of Satan (or The Church of Extacy, for all you acid heads out there who didn't hear me the first time). Nope, in an act of pure desperation, I'm back suckling at the on the wonky nipple attached to the fake, disproportionately large tit that is your average Andy Sidaris film; and believe me, it's average, all right. How this came about, I'm not exactly sure. But I know one thing–and I can't believe I'm about to say this–I sure do miss Dona Speir (Click: The Calendar Girl Killer) and Roberta Vasquez (Picasso Trigger). The first film directed by Andy Sidaris to not star Dona Speir... Wait, let me rephrase that. The first film directed by Andy Sidaris since Hard Ticket to Hawaii to not star Dona Speir, Day of the Warrior features a brand new bevy of untalented actresses with suspect boobies for us to ogle and gawk at. Oh, sure, actual talented people like, Julie Strain (Fit to Kill), Rodrigo Obregón (Savage Beach), Gerald Okamura (Samurai Cop) and Richard Cansino (Guns) are back to make go of it. But everyone else is seriously lacking when it comes displaying the basic properties that make up charisma. Actually, that's not entirely true, there are some bright spots sprinkled here and there. And just because I like you, I'll try to isolate the few of the film's bright spots.

For the most part, however, the so-called "babes" who have been saddled with the task of providing this film with the prerequisite eye candy fail to achieve their primary goal.

And what, pray tell, you might be thinking, is that goal? It's simple, really, their goal is to give men erections. Anyone who tries to convince you otherwise is kidding themselves. Sadly, there won't be many erections unfurled during this film. Unless, of course, you're into skinny women with fake tits. If that's the case, you'll be unfurling untoward unicorn horns in your frontal trouser area until the cows come home.

Speaking of cows, check out the cow-print briefcase Cobra (Julie K. Smith) is carrying through chichi Beverly Hills, it's so tacky/awesome (and a nice subtle shout out  to Malibu Express - the protagonist in that film also carried a cow-print briefcase). What isn't tacky in the slightest, however, are the awesome black stockings currently holding her not-so shapely legs hostage. I didn't think it was possible, but the black stockings attached to Julie K. Smith's gams are having zero effect on the outward appearance of said gams. Meaning, her gams are not receiving a dramatic upturn in their sex appeal.

Don't look so stunned, I'm as shocked as you are. Like the true professional that he is, Andy Sidaris tries his best to film her black stocking-sheathed legs from every possible angle. But even that can't change the fact that Julie K. Smith looks like she's walking on a pair of shapeless stilts, all the while, trying to smuggle two comically large balloons underneath her pink jacket.

While I could sit here and trash Julie K. Smith's lack of legginess, I would really like to... You know what? Let's stick with this subject. Not to be cruel, but since Julie K. Smith stripping in a Beverly Hills strip club is the first thing we see in this film, we might as well start there.

Question: Is this supposed to be erotic? I mean, the sight of Julie K. Smith hurling her body across the strip club stage is doing nothing for me. Where's Sally Farb when you need her. (Sally who?) You know, Sally Farb, from The Curse of Her Flesh. Now there's a woman who knows a thing or about the art of burlesque. What Julie K. Smith is doing is basically a variation of that angry twitchy gyration thing Elizabeth Berkley does in Showgirls. In other words, it's not hot.

Welcome to the headquarters of L.E.T.H.A.L. (Legion to Ensure Total Harmony and Law). Sitting at her computer, Tiger (Shae Marks) is surprised to find out that the L.E.T.H.A.L. computer system has been violated by a criminal mastermind named "Warrior" (Marcus Bagwell). Realizing that the identities of all the L.E.T.H.A.L. agents currently in the field could be compromised, Tiger brings the news to Commander Willow Black (Julie Strain), who is exercising in her office in a skimpy leopard-print leotard.

Unable to warn the agents without blowing their cover, Willow sends Tiger into the field to get the word out. Assigned to work with a pilot named Tyler (Christian Letelier), Tiger is eager to go on an assignment, as it's been two years since... Holy crap! How does she walk around with those things? (What things?) What things?!? Those huge things sticking out of her chest. (Oh, you mean her tits.) No, no, no, those aren't tits. Those things are beyond tits.

Anyway, after recovering from the sight of Tiger's ginormous boobies (they're, like, totally out of proportion with the rest of her body), I was able to properly gauge the quality of Christian Letelier's acting. And, after thoroughly checking my instruments, I can safely say that he is in fact terrible.

In charge of bringing Doc Austin (Kevin Light)–who is working for a couple of the Warrior's underlings, Manuel (Rodrigo Obregón) and Kym (Raye Hollitt)–"in from the cold" (it's spy lingo), Tiger and Tyler head down to Southern Texas.

It would seem that the Warrior has some competition in the being buff in public department. No, not Kevin Light, silly. I'm talking about Raye Hollitt, who's built like a linebacker. Which is ironic since Kevin Light reminded me a little of linebacker Brian Bosworth circa his days with the Seattle Seahawks; and I do mean "days," as his NFL career lasted barely two seasons. Nonetheless, add Raye Hollitt's name to the vast list of women in this movie that I find unappealing.

In order to "take care" of L.E.T.H.A.L. agents Shark (Darren Wise) and Scorpion (Tammy Parks), the Warrior sends two stockbrokers/hitmen–who are currently posing as surfers in Malibu–to Las Vegas. Fans of Andy Sidaris, and the people who watch his films simply because there's nothing else on, will recognize one of the stockbroker-hitmen, as he is played by Sidaris regular Richard Cansino. Unfortunately, he's not paired with his long time partner Chu Chu Malave; who's been replaced by Cassidy Phillips. Sure, they're still bumbling and incompetent as ever, but it's just not the same.

The good news is, the stockbroker/hitmen go on a date with two sexy stock analysts before heading to Las Vegas. Granted, we don't actually see them go on a date, but we do get to see the leggy as all get out Christiva Turner and the silky smooth contours belonging to Carolyn Liu lounging by the pool.

And thus, breaking the film's streak of there of only being unattractive women onscreen up until this point.

Wait, what am I saying? Julie Strain has been onscreen several times already, and she's exceedingly attractive. And not someone you want to make angry, as she will straight up knock your dick in the dirt.

I'm sorry, but Julie K. Smith and Shae Marks aren't doing it for me. Yet, judging by the way Andy Sidaris' camera film's them, you'd think they were the most beautiful women on the face of the earth. His mind has obviously been conditioned to equate attractiveness with big tits. Which is fine, if that's your thing. But somewhere down the road he forget to equate a little thing called "personality." Something that Julie K. Smith and Shae Marks clearly don't have.

After watching her get dressed, we follow Julie K. Smith's Cobra, complete with her own theme music ("She's a cobra!"), as she heads to a shop on Rodeo Dr. to pick up some stolen diamonds from a guy who looks like the stuntman they would have hired if Skeet Ulrich had landed the lead role in The Ninth Gate. Again, not to sound cruel, but her clothes make her look like a 75 year-old woman. Not that there's anything wrong with being 75, it's just that Julie K. Smith clearly isn't 75.

While confidence is a quality I usually admire in a person, the confidence the characters exude in these films is especially off-putting. Just once I'd see a character in an Andy Sidaris/Arlene Sidaris/Christian Drew Sidaris production experience a moment of self-doubt. You could say the Sidaris' are mocking, in their own unique way, the tenets of American exceptional-ism. But even I'll admit, that's a bit of a stretch.

Coming close to experiencing a moment of self-doubt is Gerald Okamura's Fu, who headlines the Cloud 9 Lounge in Las Vegas under the name "Elvis Fu." Yet, despite the lackluster attendance of his show, Fu still seems to think he's doing great. Nonetheless, the teaming up of Julie Strain and Gerald Okamura is the best thing this film has to offer in terms of entertainment value.

As each L.E.T.H.A.L. agent gets their cover blown, the L.E.T.H.A.L. ladies must work extra hard to prevent their colleagues from being assassinated by the Warrior, who, despite having a cool look, is a pretty lame villain (he spends the bulk of the film inside a wrestling ring, while Rodrigo Obregón and the musclebound Raye Hollitt end up doing the lion's share of the legwork, villainy-wise).

If you're interested in micro mini-dresses, fake tits, old cellphones, piss poor shoot-outs (the one involving a bulldozer was sort of well-done, though), zebra-print stockings worn underneath PVC trousers...

Hold up, what the hell was that? I mean, we see Julie K. Smith in her room putting on zebra-print stockings, but seconds later she can be seen leaving in a pair of PVC trousers. Are we expected to believe that Julie is wearing zebra-print stockings underneath her PVC trousers? Um, I don't think so.

Okay, where was I? Oh, yeah... If you're interested in the stuff I just mentioned, and, not to mention, red leather skirts with zippers located in the front, films that feature plenty of third act acts of treachery, female finger pointing at board meetings, Ted Prior from Deadly Prey, and instances where muscular chicks shoot owls with shotguns, I don't know what to say. But if you're like me, and have seen way too many Andy Sidaris films than you'd care to admit, you might as well watch this one. Seriously, one more ain't going to kill you.

The Dallas Connection (Christian Drew Sidaris, 1994)

Feeling charitable, writer/director/hapless fake tittie enthusiast, Andy Sidaris, after the debacle that was Enemy Gold, has elected to give his son, Christian Drew Sidaris, a second stab at writing and directing his own movie. And the result is pretty much the same old crap. But this time, there's a unique twist. You see, in The Dallas Connection... Hold on, who am I kidding? There's no unique twist. I was right the first time around, this is pretty much the same old crap. If that's the case, why the hell I'm watching this? I mean, I'm not contractually obligated or anything like that, so, what gives, man? Oh, I know why. I'm glutton for punishment and obviously a bit of a closet masochist. Either way, there's a ton of stuff to make fun of in this film. And not only that, the film features the Sidaris debut of Wendy Hamilton, a tall, shapely brunette with an erection amassing ass. Unfortunately, this film is also marks the Sidaris debut of Julie K. Smith, one of the most untalented women to ever to appear in an Andy Sidaris production. Hey, I know, that's a harsh thing to say, but some people need to be told they can't act. It's clear, however, that Andy Sidaris never got around to telling Julie K. Smith that she's a talentless hosebeast, as he, for some bizarre reason, decided to cast her in another two movies. That's right, I have to sit through two more movies with  this charisma-challenged dolt. Yeah, yeah, I technically don't have to do anything. But I might as well finish what I started.

It should be noted that Wendy Hamilton can't act, either. It's just that she looks somewhat natural compared to cosmetic freak show that is Julie K. Smith, and Samantha Phillips (also making her Sidaris debut), whose tits look like non-jiggling chunks of flesh-based polyurethane. My point being, Wendy stood out for me in terms of  being less awful.

Oh, and when I say, "can't act," I'm using my own personal criteria to assess their acting ability. In other words, I'm not judging them from some highfalutin, Stanislavski angle. All you have to do to impress me as an actor is say your lines in a semi-coherent manner, or, at the very least, talk in an exaggerated fashion, one that is on the cusp of being entertaining. However, I'm sad to report, Julie K. Smith, Wendy Hamilton and Samantha Phillips do not fit into either of these categories. They're simply terrible and shouldn't have made it past the audition stage.

Well, I would have still cast Wendy Hamilton. But in a non-speaking role. I mean, look her! Her bum is sublime. To deny the world the sight of Wendy's killer booty whilst ensnared in a thong/leotard (a thongtard?) or in a thong that is attached to some kind of lime green wetsuit would be a crime.

Let me quickly look over my notes regarding this film... Oh, man. It says here the film opens in Paris, France. Yes, the shots of famous Parisian landmarks were definitely authentic, but there's no way I'm buying that the bedroom where Julie Strain's Black Widow is putting a studded leather collar around the neck of a hunky French scientist is anywhere near France. I mean, check out the light coming through the window, it's so freaking bright. No, that light is way too harsh to be French. Things only get worse when we're shown the outside of the house Julie Strain and the French scientist guy are having sex in, as the house practically oozes suburban Dallas.

You think that's bad, wait until we're whisked off to South Africa and Hong Kong.

Wearing purple fishnet stockings, Black Widow has rough sex with the French scientist, then shoots him between the eyes. Picked up by Platter Puss (Cassidy Phillips), Black Widow is driven to an airplane hangar (totally in France), walks across said hangar (still totally wearing purple fishnet stockings), hops aboard a jet that is being flown by Fu (Gerald Okamura), and heads to Dallas, Big D, D-Town; but not before refueling in Newfoundland. Woo-hoo! Canada finally gets a shout out in an Andy Sidaris production.

After some stock footage, no doubt lifted from Wild Kingdom, we see Cobra (Julie K. Smith) blow up a South African scientist using a bomb attached to a remote control car. Jeez, the Sidaris's and their obsession with vapid chicks with fake tits and remote control cars and boats is starting to sap my strength.

The action soon turns to Hong Kong (complete with aerial stock footage of Victoria Harbour) where Scorpion (Wendy Hamilton) blows up a Chinese scientist on a golf course. This scene is great because it features lots of shots of Wendy Hamilton bending over in a short skirt.

As you might have guessed, Black Widow, Cobra and Scorpion are assassins. But why are they targeting scientists? That's a good question. Oh, wait, here comes Nicholas Lang (Roland Marcus), the leader of I/WAR (International World Arms Removal), I'm sure he'll explain everything.

Paired with an I/WAR agent named Samantha Maxx (Samantha Phillips), Nicholas explains the reason why these particular scientists were targeted while flying from Washington to Dallas. (How come everyone is flying to Dallas?) Excellent question. Wait, no it's not. The film is called "The Dallas Connection," not "The Penetanguishene Connection" for a reason.

Anyway, I can see why Roland Marcus was given the task of explaining the film's plot, as he's the only actor in the cast who can string more than two sentences together without pulling a brain muscle. I'm not implying he's a great actor or anything like that. But his lengthy, jargon-heavy monologue detailing the film's plot gets the job done.

Oh, sure, Samantha Maxx (her crossed legs sheathed in black stockings) chimes in every once in a while during Nicholas's monologue. But I didn't buy for a second that she knew what she was talking about. And, no, not because she's a woman, but because she's a clueless twit.

When Black Widow, with Platter Puss and Fu in tow, arrives in Dallas, she's heads straight for–you guessed it–Cowboys Club and Restaurant. And, yay! Would you look at that, Kym Malin is still the club's choreographer/night hostess.

Like me, Kym is watching Cobra and Scorpion practice their stripper routines while taking notes. Hmm, I wonder if Kym's notes are the same as mine? 

My notes basically say: Wendy Hamilton's bum is sexy. Julie K. Smith sucks.

A fourth scientist, an Argentine named Antonio Morales (Rodrigo Obregón) is in Dallas, and obviously needs protecting.

Anyone know why the flag of Zambia is flying outside a building in Dallas, Texas? Could it be the headquarters of The Zambia Association of Dallas Fort-Worth (ZADFW)? Call me, oh, let's say, someone who is not of sound mind, but the sudden appearance of the Zambian flag is so far the only thing that's remotely intriguing about The Dallas Connection.

After Black Widow, Platter Puss and Fu pay a visit to the I/WAR headquarters, the dead bodies they leave in their wake are taken care of by Coroner #1 (Larry Hicks) and Coroner #2 (Ken Meeks). Now, I'm not sure which is which, but one of these guys utters the best lines in the entire movie.

Yeah, yeah, I know, Julie Strain's "After you finish with those guys, rape these bitches and kill 'em... I know I would," is pretty great and all, but the actor playing the coroner who says, "Billy Joe, you better bring more tape... this boy is huge," while marking the outline of one of the dead bodies is hilarious. His delivery, in terms of comic timing, was spot-on. Of course, as is the case with most of the actors who display anything close to resembling talent in these films, he's never seen or heard from again. Boo!

Instead, we're saddled with a bunch of no-talent ass-clowns. Like, Bruce Penhall, who, at one point, says, "look lady," to Kym Malin's Cowboys choreographer/night hostess. Can you believe that? The nerve of this guy. I wanted to eat his taint for breakfast and not leave a tip after he said that.

And things only get worse, as Bruce Penhall says, "You should have read your fortune cookie," after blowing up Gerald Okamura with his grenade launcher. When I heard him say that, I nearly keeled over. (Did you nearly keel over as a result of being outraged? Or did you nearly keel over as a result of laughing too hard?) Let's just say I was genuinely shocked by the scene's casual racism. Whether I laughed or not... I'll never tell.

This film would turn out to be the last of this type to be written and directed by Christian Drew Sidaris, as his father Andy gets back in the director's chair for the next two adventures (yay?). And, yep, that's right, there are only two left (yay!).